Maggie was a friend of mine when I lived in California. We went to the same shows locally and saw each other at all the same parties. We liked a lot of the same things, such as reggae music, marijuana (among other things) and watching live music. It was never a very big surprise to run in to her at Grateful Dead shows back in the day, especially the west coast shows. No matter where a show was, there was always a chance I might run into her on Shakedown Street, in the hall dodging spinners or in the darkness on Phil’s side having a smoke break. It was at a show in Oakland Los Angeles that I ran into her one night when I really needed her.

The night had actually gone pretty smoothly. I went to the concert without a ticket and walked around in the parking lot with my index finger in the air indicating I was looking for a “miracle” ticket. I strolled for about a half hour before someone jammed a ticket into my hand. I thanked the kid and went off to have some falafel before the show, I had plenty of time. Just as I finished my dinner and was about half way through a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, always a favorite on tour, I ran into some friends of mine from San Francisco. I hadn’t seen them in a long time and it was good to see them. They wanted to show me their bus so we waddled over to a busier part of the parking lot, over near Shakedown and boarded an old school bus that was painted either by children or people who hadn’t quite come down from an acid trip. The inside however was a different story making me think the outside was a diversion to keep people from breaking in. To look at the outside you’d think there was nothing of value on the inside but to actually see it was really something.

The front looked pretty average but there was a curtain. When my buddy opened that curtain the smell of Nag Champa and kind bud meandered to my nostrils. There were hard wood floors, a polished wood bunk with a tie dyed down comforter, bean bag chairs and a small couch. The walls were covered in pictures; some of the people currently on the bus were in those pictures. I recognized Madison Square Garden, Boston Garden, the Warfield and many other venues. There were also pictures of smiling people all tie dyed in front of sticker slapped vehicles, bright eyes, big pupils and behind them uniform parking lots. The venues were different but the hotel strips and parking lots were all the same. There were four or five people in the back already; I had seen a couple of them before here or there. We all sat around doing the “getting to know you” thing. That and the, “I think I remember you...I was pretty high at that show” thing. We came to find that we knew a lot of the same people, did some catching up and even got to the point where we were predicting what the Dead would play that night when we realized it was about time to head in to the show.

The drug of choice that evening for the people on that particular bus was ecstasy which they also offered to me. I took my hit without hesitation, back in those days I did a lot of that, sometimes I had the hit down even before I knew what it was so long as I knew the source, my people knew what I liked and what I didn't like, no white powders if you please. We all stepped off the bus and parted ways. We were experienced enough to know that not only would we probably get separated walking down Shakedown anyway this wasn’t the type of concert where you go in with all your buddies holding hands, finding your seats and not separating throughout the whole concert. People at Dead shows are movers and shakers, it’s the rare one who sits in one place throughout the whole show, there’s too much to do and see.

So as I wander the hallway smiling my Cheshire Cat smile at people as my “x” kicks in I run into Maggie. Wonderful to see her but even more so since we’re both high as kites on “x.” I have no idea how long we talked, how long we sat on that floor watching the colors dance around each other’s heads but I can tell you a good time was had by all. We parted ways, she to go and get dizzy with the spinners, me to go find a quiet spot over on Phil’s side in the dark. I enjoyed the rest of the show, went out to shake my “thang” for the encore then headed out right before the song was over so I could make it out to a beer vendor before there was a line. As I was grooving on the way fresh air feels on your face after being inside a darkened coliseum thick with pot smoke a young man walked up to me and handed me a rose, how sweet.

Beer in one hand rose in the other I’m feeling good. Now at a Dead show, the parking lot doesn’t close down when the show starts or when it ends. People don’t pack up their party, throw it in their trunk, go into the show and then come out and go home. At a Dead show you get Shakedown Street and it never sleeps. You find buses on top of buses selling their wares. Really, buses on top of buses, like a Volkswagen bus, with the bottom sawed off then welded on to the top of a school bus. People are selling things out of their buses, some are better known than others like the burrito bus and the disco bus. Some are more associated with the East coast, some you only see if you’re on the West coast, some are everywhere. I hear the hiss of the nitrous tanks and smell the weed in the air then the beauty of my moment is shaken up a bit by a couple across the way arguing over a nitrous balloon.

She says it’s her turn, he says it’s his, they’re fighting over gas and I have to laugh at this. I get my giggles right up until I see the guy hit her. I look at my beer bottle and think of the last time I saw something like that at a show. I had cracked my beer bottle against the bumper of a car and held up the jagged end as though I actually meant to do harm with it. It was the sound that had made the guy back off then, much like the sound of a shotgun clicking in the night might scare away a potential thief. I had done that on east coast booze though and this was west coast "x" and that had me on a different page this particular night. I just wanted the whole world to love each other so I walked over to them to try and smooth things over, which I’m actually good at when I’m not high. Unfortunately the guy was high too and I have no idea what he was on, nothing I would take though I can tell you that. My drugs of choice were always the happy kind, the kind that had my friends getting me to keep my clothes on and remind me there weren’t any trees close by to climb. This guy was scary, mean, mad to begin with and whatever he was on didn’t help.

As I approached this guy got angry with me, you see, I had no idea he was angry at the time, I was too high. I’m just walking over farting fairies and burping butterflies thinking I’m going to create peace and harmony between these lovely young people. Other people around us saw the inevitable and more and more people were showing up as they were getting out of the show. What they saw was this little hippie chick with a rose in her hand walking over to the most angry man on the lot. I hand the rose to the girl who is likely looking at me like I’m insane though I wouldn’t have known. This is where the guy starts yelling at me. He isn’t touching me just aggressively walking toward me shouting at me. To this day I have no idea what he was saying just that as high as I was he could have been saying anything.

By now there’s a crowd, people are watching making sure the cute little high ass hippie girl doesn’t get herself beat by this angry guy. I’m just walking away, trying to walk away actually but everywhere I go, he follows me. I turn, he turns too but since he isn’t making any moves to hurt me in any way no one is doing a thing. More people are gathering and I find myself sort of walking around in circles with this screaming dude following me and honestly, I’m beginning to get upset, he’s totally fucking up my Qi. I either need more drugs, another beer, some food or all that but I can’t get away from this little group of gawking people. By now I realize that part of the reason no one is doing anything to help is because they are all either drunk or high and really don’t know what they should do, they’re just products of an environment where watching is what you do. They just watch and think to themselves, “Dude! This is better than television...it almost seems like I’m there!”

No telling how long this went on, it was probably about two minutes in reality but it felt like forever to me. So I walk, people on both sides of me and a lunatic behind. I’m starting to feel embarrassed that I’ve gotten myself into this situation, I know better, it isn’t the first time I’ve been high for sobbing out loud! My buzz is beginning to suffer and my mood is changing for the worse. My head is hung in shame and I want this part of my night to be over. Then I get my moment, I still see it like a picture in my head. I look up from my reverie of shame and there’s Maggie. It’s like there’s a tunnel of faceless people and she’s the light at the end of it and her arms are open and I walk right into them. It’s the best hug of my career to date, and seeing as I’m living the lifestyle I’m living at that time that was no small amount of hugs. My high is back on and the angry guy literally disappears, at least that was how it seemed to me, it was as though he never even existed. That hug, that it was Maggie, was so reassuring.

Sometimes it was easy to feel small on Grateful Dead tour. That bus I visited at the beginning, I never had one of those. I never had a specific “clan” that I traveled with. I was on my own. It’s one thing to be doing it, to be traveling here and there and back again, there are always people around but I don’t “belong” with any of them. I don’t go “home” after the run of shows is over, I never know where I’m going to end up I just have faith that it’s always going to be OK. That night, knowing I was safe, knowing I was not alone felt like a miracle to me, two miracles in one night. I was in Oakland but in that moment I knew that if I had been in Colorado, it would have been Alisa, San Francisco it would have been Kathy, Boston it would have been Kenny, New York it would have been Sonny, Arizona it would have been Antonia and so on. I felt cared for like I never had before. I had a family of sorts. Sure it was an odd, circus-like traveling family spread from one side of the country to the other, but it was a family none the less. Yes, I felt all that in the warmth and safety in one hug, I don’t know how long it lasted, probably only a couple of minutes in reality, but it felt like forever to me and it was awesome.